I'm writing a short one page comic to stick on this blog when I get the chance and things are going pretty well so hopefully you'll see the results shortly. I'm spitting piss about the weather outside though as I think I haven't been able to walk properly for about 2 weeks now cos of the frost.
The one nice thing about the weather being like this is the moon reflecting off the snow on clear nights so everything out there is rendered in a weird glowing stillness. Tonight the sky is pale red and it feels like mars at dusk, theres big cotton swabs of snow falling as I'm writing this so its getting easier and easier to romanticise all this rather than damn it for all the logistical trouble its causing me.
Anyway, here's another story from my short story vault - it's not at all in the style of 4HF but I hope you enjoy it regardless.
I didn't see to it, I told them. I didn't see to it, kept on yellin it, still damn drunk.
I jest found the body, covered with puckers of bruises yellow an purple. All swoll up. Lips and nose flowerin' out against a putty face.
Had been drinkin' all day an' went to sleep at the underpass, the rumbles of the vehicles above make me dream of the Lord shuddering out obscenities. I like them dreams.
I set myself down there and at some point a pair of highbeams cross my face and then light him up, not 10 feet away, eyes open starin' up at the pass listenin' to the gospel of ghosts.
"Listen up, that's all you can do down here, you listen to His prayers. He won't hear a damn thing you say back."
and, hell if that didn't set me off laughin'.
When they old bluejays picked us up in the mornin' in their car they said I was laid up right beside him starin' up at that dark pass, had taken off both our shoes and hats and put em in a pile under our heads.
But it wasn't me, I didn't see to that fellar, it was the Lord brought us together, to hear his word.